Methodology
by Garnite
Summary: The methods of fate are never clear and concise much to the chagrin of those involved.


Methodology  
>By: Garnite<p>

Chapter I

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Blaise watched as his best friend stalked the room and he was most humored. Before him the most eligible bachelor in London looked like he was going to break into a fit of girly hysterics at any moment- and seeing Draco Malfoy lose his cool in a female fashion? Priceless.

"Give me two good reasons why you're grinning," Draco bit out as he made yet another circle around his office. "Or, by Merlin, I'll hex your liver straight out of your throat and feed it to you."

Blaise snorted. "I'm humored. Generally, people grin when they're humored. Unless they have years of unresolved, pent up, emotional-anger problems and the denial of sex- oh," he mused. "that's why you're _not _grinning!"

A smirk almost touched Draco's lips. Finally, he stopped in the center of the room and aligned himself with the monstrous window that took up nearly the entire western wall. He stuffed his hand through his platinum blonde locks and barely resisted the urge to tug them. "Bloody mudbloods and their _moronic _laws." He muttered.

Draco eyed the icy wind outside his window. Suddenly, he had the urge to be in it, to find himself surrounded by something that was out of his control but that was utterly beautiful and painful. Now he smirked. Surely a sane man would rather deal with a few stupid, filthy mudbloods than station himself outdoors in London during the dead of winter. With that thought Draco let out a sigh, "As it is… I am not sane."

"Duh."

Draco frowned over his shoulder. "I didn't hear your two reasons…" he palmed his wand.

Blaise arched a brow and drew his own wand in response. "Insane people rarely pay attention to their surroundings."

"For an old man you've quite the silver tongue." Draco taunted.

Blaise frowned as they began to circle one another. "We're the same age, dolt."

"Really? Then why so slow?" Draco said in rebuttal and flicked his wrist, "_Expelliarmus! Densaugeo!" _

Blaise watched his wand go catapulting across the room and then peered down his nose to see his teeth enlarge to the size of dragon fangs. He let out a small huff of frustration. "Honestly, Draco. Do you get some sick pleasure out of making my teeth ginormous?"

Draco grinned, "You have no idea."

They both turned toward the knock on the door and the subsequent opening of said door. Draco stood with his hands in his pockets, an innocent expression and not a hair out of place. Blaise tried to act as if he didn't resemble some sort of demonic rabbit.

The woman who entered had a pixie like face and a hair cut to match. She wore her black tendrils arrow straight and to her jaw. Draco supposed that it fit her personality- straight to the point and dark to the core. He had to admit he appreciated her good looks and cut throat tendencies, however, the woman was about as stupid as a mandrake. He began to muse on what she would look like as a mandrake and exited the reverie when he realized she was speaking.

Maxine Gildenhall blinked owlishly for a moment. She took in Draco's innocently bored expression and Blaise's conspicuous teeth. "Um…" she stammered. "Did I interrupt something?"

Draco cleared his throat. "No, not at all. You've something for me, Parkinson?"

Her sharp green eyes narrowed. "It's Gildenhall. Maxine Gildenhall."

"Yeah, sure." Draco shrugged as he turned and made his way to his desk. "Have you something for me or not? And if you'd like to keep your job I would recommend that you not stare at Mr. Zabini- the man has had enough of that from his childhood."

Maxine straightened herself and her chin came out defiantly. "I just have a few applications for the…" she paused for a fraction of a second. "new employees."

Draco inwardly flinched. She meant the mudbloods, the muggleborns. They were considered _employees _now. 'Oh, the horror.' Draco thought to himself and stamped the urge to rub his temples. "Right," he said aloud. "On the desk, out you go." With that he waved her off.

Blaise watched over his teeth as Maxine complied with a very stiff and clearly pissed off demeanor. "Well, she was pleasant." He quipped as the door shut. He watched Draco glare at the applications. "Draco… you cannot set them ablaze."

Draco had pulled out his wand and began twirling it in his fingers. "Oh, dear brother, I can."

Blaise retrieved his own wand with a sigh and muttered an incantation to set his teeth back to their normal state. He fit himself smoothly into the leather chair straight across from Draco. "Listen mate, these are new times. Change is among us. You're going to have to comply with the Integration of Muggle-Borns Proclamations. Think of it as a wise business decision."

Draco twirled his wand once more before stowing it away in his robes. "I know it is something I have to do." He frowned as an owl tapped at the window. "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

While he moved to fetch the bird, Blaise had taken the files from the desk and began to leaf through them. "Well, some of these mud-ahem-prospects, stop hissing Draco, actually look promising- okay really? Was that a grimace? Merlin's beard, how are you to interview these applicants?"

Draco cleared his throat as he detached the parchment from the owl. "I'm not. You are."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I am not, you git. You're the boss, you're the one… oh _shit." _

Draco looked up at the sudden change of tone in his friend's voice. "What?"

"Oh shit, damn, fuck." Blaise muttered as a particular file laid open his lap.

Perplexed, Draco maneuvered around the desk to stand behind Blaise. "Oh," he sucked in a breath with a hiss. "bloody hell." He turned away sharply. "Bleeding Saints of Morgana- _dammit. _No."

"Draco," Blaise started.

"No." Draco cut him off. "Not her. Absolutely not. I'll kill myself first."

"Draco," Blaise tried again.

"I need stress relief." Draco demanded. "Bloody hell, Parkinson! Maxine, whatever the devil your name is! Get in here!" he bellowed.

"Draco Malfoy!" Blaise bellowed in return. "You cannot hex your secretary!"

X

Hermione Granger sat in a white, pristine room and she was more nervous than she'd been since The War. Her feet were crossed at the ankles and currently moving in a constant, systematic nervous twitch. She drummed her fingers along the black leather brief case and tried to calm her nerves.

'This is for the good of the wizarding world.' She told herself. 'Being one of the muggle-borns to infiltrate, no, _integrate _into the pure-blood businesses- yes, this is a good thing.'

She continued the mantra in her head while simultaneous trying to remember everything she wanted to say in her interview. 'Plus,' she started. 'you really need a job. And this committee is dedicated to helping you find a job.' She sighed.

She did her best not to think about why she was in this predicament. An unfaithful, _stupid _husband- she shook her head to clear the thought. She was starting life anew. And, as was most convenient to her, laws were pushed through the Ministry that muggles would have equal rights in employment, healthcare and other such things. Before the last and final rise of Voldemort it had been an unspoken rule. Generally businesses didn't regard blood status for hiring and those who did weren't approached. But as the market became increasingly difficult it was time to take a stand.

She hadn't realized that her nervous jittering had begun to make a musical sound; a musical sound that grated on every single nerve in the body of the witch at the head of the room.

"Miss Granger!" a booming voice snapped.

Hermione jumped to her feet, her fingers clenching on to her brief case. "I'm here!"

"I noticed!" the witch quipped, "Please cease and desist your incessant foot tapping."

"Oh." Hermione breathed. "S-sorry." She sat down with what seemed considerable weight and a dejected demeanor.

'For the good of the wizarding world,' she chanted in her mind. 'For the good of the wizarding world.'

X

"I don't know how I feel about this." Ron whined as Harry, Hermione and himself sat at a table mulling over Hermione's day at the Integration of Muggle-Borns Committee, occasionally taking interest in their food.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. It could have its benefits." He snagged a piece of bacon from Ron's plate and Ron stole a bread roll from his. "I mean, it might take a few years but…we might actually mend the gap. You never know."

Hermione gave him a doubtful look. "I'm still nervous."

Ron fiddled with his ear. "I got the worst feeling about this, 'Mione."

Hermione snorted. "Well what do you expect? Should I work alongside you and Harry as an Auror?" she continued on without even a glance at the two men to see if they had input. "Honestly, I need a job. And… and there is an entire committee dedicated to finding me one all because of who my parents are." She stabbed a bite of eggs with her fork and grumbled, "I'd be a fool to not take advantage- especially if the sole reason were a couple of foul pure-bloods."

She did her best not to make snide remarks at Ron. He was going to be her friend at some point, once the divorce was finalized. She didn't want to make things turbulent between her, Harry and Ron. So she held her tongue whenever he came about.

Ron looked sideways at Harry and Harry simply shrugged in response. They changed to the subject to the Quidditch matches that were being held this year for the first time since the war, five years ago. And while they laughed and made bets against teams and each other, Hermione couldn't help but feel the same horrible, sinking feeling that Ron had described earlier.

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A/N: Well then! It's done! The first chapter is done! Yay!


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